


Dressed Down

by Emmalyn



Series: Brainspace and Kinkspace [2]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Bottom Newt, Clothing Kink, I'm so proud, Light Dom/sub, M/M, PWP, Shameless Smut, Switching, Top Hermann, this is the filthiest thing I have ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 16:21:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3735547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emmalyn/pseuds/Emmalyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Automatically, Newt’s eyes track down the fitted blue shirt that stretches across Hermann’s shoulders (after all these years of loose tweed jackets, Newt was beginning to doubt he even <em>had</em> shoulders), to those dark jeans that hug his ass way too closely for comfort. For Newt’s comfort. And likely for anyone else’s comfort, if they happen to be standing behind Hermann. </p><p>In those jeans.</p><p>Newt swallows hard and looks away.</p><p>(ETA: Now with art by the talented homuzu!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dressed Down

**Author's Note:**

> For [homuzu](http://homuzu.tumblr.com/), who prompted #17 from [this list](http://emmalyn.tumblr.com/post/115598484008/new-improved-porny-prompt-list): "one person clothed and the other naked." (Not beta-read; feel free to point out typos, etc.)
> 
> EDIT: Now with accompanying art by the lovely and talented homuzu! :D See end notes for links/preview.

As of this week, Newt has, officially and completely, lost control of his life.

The facts are these:

#1. Seeing the world was one of Newt’s dreams as a kid, but

#2. The whole touring-and-talking circuit has gotten really old after six solid weeks of airplane food and living out of a backpack, and

#3. Raleigh and Mako and the rest of the high-profile PPDC staff don’t have to do this at all, so

#4. Why is it that Newt and Hermann are stuck with Tendo and like three techs going around to fifty bajillion cities? And besides that,

#5. Hermann has not worn anything but stuffy sweater vests and badly-fitted slacks for _years_ and Newt is about to combust from this new slinky-suits-and-skinny-jeans mathematician that he finds himself saddled with.

It’s just not fair.

A great amount of willpower goes into Newt’s decision _not_ to rip his hair out in the hotel lobby. Their group is checking into this resort for a few nights at least, and he guesses the place is pretty ritzy or whatever, but marble floors and floral-scented carpet cleaner kinda blur together when you’ve seen twenty hotels in two months. (Seriously, does every business resort in the world buy their detergent from the same website or something? “Generic-Hotels-R-Us.com”?)

And yeah, okay, so Newt’s not exactly paying attention to the directions that their host is giving them, because of the aforementioned resisting-throwing-a-tantrum thing. But there’s still no call for Hermann getting all up in his face about it.

“ _Newton_ ,” Hermann whispers fiercely. How does he do that without moving his lips? Or his eyes? “Pay attention.”

The host keeps droning on, so naturally Newt decides to ignore the hotel robot guy and Hermann at the same time. His body is directed in a vague forward-facing direction, and he’s not snoring. That’s the best Hermann’s going to get after a twelve-hour flight.

Of course, Hermann can’t leave well enough alone, and jabs Newt’s side with one bony elbow. Newt jumps and narrowly manages not to squeak. He shoots a glare sideways. “Not cool, man,” he says under his breath.

And Hermann has the gall to look _innocent_ , the fucker. Newt glances over at him. Which, of course, is a bad decision. Automatically, Newt’s eyes track down the fitted blue shirt that stretches across Hermann’s shoulders (after all these years of loose tweed jackets, Newt was beginning to doubt he even _had_ shoulders), to those dark jeans that hug his ass _way_ too closely for comfort. For Newt’s comfort. And likely for anyone else’s comfort, if they happen to be standing behind Hermann. In those jeans.

Newt swallows hard and looks away.

Anyway. This whole “lusting after your coworker” thing is just getting out of hand. Especially since they aren’t technically coworkers anymore. And they kind of have a _thing_ going as of a few nights ago, too -- even if Hermann hasn’t acknowledged it aloud or made any overtures or responded to any of Newt’s flirting since then.

But it’s fine. They’re fine. They just haven’t had any time to themselves since that night when they were kinda stuck in close proximity to each other.

 _Very_ close proximity.

Which brings Newt to--

#6. His preoccupation with Hermann is getting worse.

It’s not that surprising, given that he and Hermann Drifted only a handful of months ago, and they’d been through a lot together even before the world almost ended. It makes sense, then, that their dynamic would change after everything calmed down.

But Newt knows that what he’s experiencing isn’t just Drift hangover. Not even three a.m. jetlag or bitchy rants spurred on by too many tiny liquor bottles has made a dent in his damn crush on his ex-lab partner. Newt has the creeping feeling that he’s not only lost control of his body’s reactions to Hermann in tight pants, but...other things. Squishy, feelings-type things.

Yeah, he’s totally screwed.

When the hotel-drone finally leaves to recharge or whatever and their little tour group disperses, Newt tags along with Hermann out of habit. The guy usually knows where he’s going. But when he follows Hermann into an elevator, Hermann whips around. “Ah! Newt! What are you doing?”

“Uh, going to my room, dude, same as you,” Newt says, leaving out the _duh_ he really wants to tack on there. Man, he’s just full of self-control today.

Except for the way his eyes keep wanting to drop below waist-level whenever he looks at Hermann. The mirrored elevator walls don’t help. Damn tight jeans.

Hermann squints at him. “What’s your room number?”

There may or may not be a keycard in that folder Newt never opened. “Two sixty-three.” Eh, close enough.

The look Hermann shoots him is not amused. “The numbering starts in the one-thousands.”

“Right, ten sixty-three, that’s what I said.” Newt smiles.

A few seconds pass. Neither of them moves a muscle. Finally, Hermann holds out a hand expectantly, and Newt passes the folder over. “You are in room thirty fourteen,” says Hermann, flipping through. Then he hands back the packet while looking straight ahead. “I am in thirty sixteen.”

“Cool, we get to be roommates again! Sort of.”

“Quite.”

Hermann taps the head of his cane as the elevator climbs upward. Newt shuffles his feet. Ugh, this new awkwardness sucks.

The elevator dings, the doors open, and both Newt and Hermann step forward at the same time.

“Ah, go ahead--”

“You first, dude--”

After a moment of staring anywhere but at each other, Hermann steps out and leads the way down the hall. Newt trails behind, trying not to notice how very tailored those jeans are, or how snugly they pull across the backs of Hermann’s thighs as he--

Stops.

“Oof!” If Newt had been paying attention, he would’ve seen that rooms 3014 and 3016 were a whole lot closer than they appear. Like those mirrors on car doors. As it is, he barrels into Hermann and nearly knocks him over.

“Do you _mind_?” Hermann huffs as he bends to pick up his dropped keycard.

To be fair, Newt would usually be more helpful, but he’s kind of distracted by Hermann’s ass being thrust into his general crotch area. So instead of offering to grab the keycard, he just stands there.

Hermann obviously notices something is up. He narrows his eyes at Newt as he straightens, and his forehead creases a little. “Newton? Are you alright?”

“Oh,” Newt says way too loudly, “yeah, totally good, fine, just, you know. Jatlegged. Er, jetlagged.”

The irritation on Hermann’s face is instantly replaced by concern. He raises the inside of one wrist to Newt’s forehead, and Newt can’t help flinching. “Calm down, I’m only checking your temperature. You look flushed.”

There’s a really obvious reason for that, thinks Newt, and he hopes very, _very_ hard that Hermann doesn’t look down right then to find out what it is. God, the man's standing close enough that Newt can smell that weirdly alluring chalk-and-soap scent that seems to hang around him, even when they haven’t seen a chalkboard in weeks. Just that smell is enough to tempt Newt to lean forward and do something _really_ stupid. Like lick his neck.

But no, Newt chickens out and stands as still as is humanly possible. Apparently his forehead isn’t any clammier than usual, because Hermann pulls away an instant later. Newt lets himself relax. One crisis averted, only about three dozen left to go!

“You’re likely dehydrated,” Hermann says as he fumbles with his key again. And-- is he a little flushed, too? “You really should take better care of yourself.”

Or _you_ could take care of me, Newt thinks.

Hermann turns, surprised. "What was that?"

Ah, shit, he must have said that out loud. "Uh, nothing, dude, I was just--"

"What did you _say_?" Hermann repeats, stepping closer. He doesn't sound mad. He sounds...interested.

Newt leans back to get away from the picture of temptation in front of him. "Seriously, I don't even know what I'm-- you know, it's late, I'm just gonna--"

Hermann, the sneaky bastard, tucks his keycard away and snatches Newt's tie in one smooth motion. And what's Newt supposed to say to that? Except maybe "yes, please"?

Luckily, _that_ thought stays an inside thought.

But Newt is still firmly focused on keeping his hips canted backward to hide his raging boner, instead of keeping his mouth shut. He _maybe_ makes a tiny noise. Just one.

"I don't believe you," says Hermann. He leans forward and peers into Newt's eyes, one at a time. "You're acting strangely."

"Haha, what else is new, right?" Newt tries to turn away and fails miserably. He'd probably be beet red if all the blood in his body weren't busy rushing straight downward. That hand at his throat is--

"Hmm." Hermann’s grip tightens minutely, and before Newt can figure out an escape plan, he's yanked forward into a bruising kiss.

Newt lets out an embarrassingly loud moan as their lips collide -- literally collide, he might have a puffy lip in the morning, but who _cares_ , Hermann’s _kissing_ him -- and he reels a little when Hermann pulls back. “Wha--?”

“Not out here,” says Hermann, glancing down the hallway. “Do you want to come inside?”

“ _Oh_ yeah.”

The door’s already open. “Then what are you waiting for?”

It’s supposed to come out coy, or maybe sexy, but instead it just sounds kind of lost when Newt says, “For you, I guess.”

Hermann shuts the door behind them, and the room is quiet for a moment. “For me?”

“Wait, no, that came out wrong, I--” Newt pauses, expecting an interruption, but none comes. “Uh. I mean, it took a while for us to get our shit together, you know?” Hermann nods. “And then we-- the other night was-- I thought it was pretty great. And it was cool that we went back to being the same old Newt-’n’-Herms we always were the next day. But--”

It feels like something’s lodged in his throat, so he swallows. “I dunno, I just kinda wanted things to change a-- a little? And I didn’t know how to ask if you did too, or if I’m just overreacting like I always do, ‘cause I know I can be a bit _much_ , and you don’t have to--”

“Newt.” Hermann’s voice is soft but firm. “You are _not_ too much, and I’m sorry if I--” He sighs. “You know that I have...difficulty expressing affection in public.” Now it’s Newt’s turn to nod mutely. “And I have my reasons, but it is not fair of me to-- to push you away, simply because we’ve had so little time to ourselves lately.”

“No kidding,” Newt snorts, and Hermann cracks a smile.

“You also know that I am not experienced in these sorts of...things,” he goes on, waving a hand between the two of them. “I am trying, however, to branch out a bit.”

He absently brushes one hand down those dark-wash skinny jeans, and-- oh. _Oh_. “The clothes,” says Newt, smacking his forehead. “You ditched the sweater vests and tweed.”

“Not entirely,” Hermann says. His lips twitch. “I cannot change my spots -- or plaids, as it were -- overnight.”

“Wouldn’t want you to, Herms.” Newt winks. “Leather elbow patches are all the rage these days.”

This gets him a massive eye roll. “I’m sure.” Then, clearing his throat, Hermann says more seriously, “But really, Newton, you mustn’t think that my reticence implies a lack of...emotional attachment. I do care for you.”

Hermann looks so uncomfortable, and so damn _earnest_ , that Newt can’t help but reassure him. “Yeah, I get it. Um. Thanks.” No, that’s not right. “And, uh, you probably know already, but...same. To you, I mean.” That was a _bit_ better. He looks up and Hermann’s staring intently at him. “What? Was that weird, or--”

“May I kiss you?” Hermann asks suddenly, and Newt blinks. “I realize I didn’t ask before, and that was remiss of me.”

“Like I’d say no.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.” Hermann’s cheekbones look even sharper when he grins. He’s only got an inch or two on Newt in height, but when he’s backing him up against the wall, Newt can’t help but feel a little small. In a good way. And god, that _shirt_ , he just wants to reach out and--

Oh, hey, his hands are a step ahead of him. The dark shirt is actually as silky as it looks, and the fabric slides easily over the warm ridges of Hermann’s collarbone. Newt’s hands shake as he clasps them behind Hermann’s neck. High school flashbacks are definitely happening, but if Newt’s 16-year-old self could see him now, he’d probably faint.

Their lips don’t collide this time; instead, Hermann leans forward and Newt angles his head just right, and they somehow manage to meet in the middle. It would be perfect, except for the fact that Hermann’s lips are firmly closed. The gentle pressure of the kiss is a little too tentative for Newt’s liking. Almost nervous.

Well. If Hermann’s not sure of his welcome, there’s one sure way to fix that.

Newt rolls up onto his tiptoes -- not as easy to do in these weird dress shoes as in his Docs, but oh well -- and licks at the seam of Hermann’s lips. The other man moans, pressing in hard, tongue exploring Newt’s mouth, and Newt can’t breathe because he doesn’t want to stop kissing Hermann, not ever.

But human bodies have their limitations, so they have to pull apart eventually. Newt is irrationally pleased by how disheveled Hermann looks after that one kiss. His collar is all wrinkled, his face is flushed, and he’s panting like he’s just run a mile. Definitely not the put-together professor from the lobby. It’s a _really_ nice picture, and Hermann is his right now, all his.

When Hermann’s tongue darts out to lick those wide lips, Newt can’t help but lean in to taste.

They kiss again, and again. Hermann grabs Newt’s hips and _grinds_ into him, hard enough that Newt can very clearly feel the shape of his erection in those tight jeans -- and if they don’t get horizontal real fast, this is going to be over before it starts.

“Herms,” Newt gasps. The confused, half-lidded look this gets him is kind of adorable. Newt looks down significantly.

“Ah,” says Hermann, straightening. “Let’s, ah. Yes.”

They make it to the bed without any major mishaps. When they’re sitting next to each other, Newt steadies himself enough to start undoing the buttons of his shirt. A hand on his stops him.

“May I?” Hermann asks, and this time there’s no hesitance in his tone or body language. He looks... _hungry_.

At Newt’s frantic nod, Hermann takes over and slips a few buttons free. The now-crumpled tie is promptly removed. “Much better,” says Hermann, running one fingertip down the V of Newt’s open collar. Newt’s cock twitches.

“Y-you really like the tats, huh?” he manages. Hermann just smiles and draws a few aimless circles above his clavicle. Then he undoes a couple more buttons, and Newt can’t breathe, can’t look away from that widening smile, even as Hermann’s fingers trail lower and lower. Something akin to panic wells in his throat. “ _Please_.”

“Shh, darling,” Hermann says, flattening his palm against Newt’s sternum. It’s a heavy, soothing weight, and Newt feels something in his chest loosen. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Yeah.” Newt knows that Hermann’s telling the truth, he _does_ , but he’s a little out of his depth here. “Okay.”

“Good,” says Hermann, watching him closely. “Now, I want to be very clear. You will stop me if I do anything that you do not like. If you say stop, I will stop.” He pauses. “Understood?”

“Yeah, sure,” Newt replies easily, though there really isn’t anything Hermann could do to him that he’d object to at this point. Plus, they’ve shared lab space for years and headspace for moments; Hermann probably knows Newt better than he himself does a lot of the time. They’ve got copies of each other’s consciousnesses running as background processes in their brains.

“Just because we’ve Drifted doesn’t mean we know everything about one another,” Hermann continues, somehow proving and disproving Newt’s brain-twin theory all in one sentence. How is he so _good_ at that?

“I got it,” Newt says.

Those must have been the magic words, because Hermann’s hands both get in on the action this time, stripping off his shirt and tossing it aside. Then Hermann reaches up to undo his own buttons.

It’s Newt’s turn to say, “Wait!”

True to his word, Hermann pauses. “Yes?” His tone is carefully neutral.

“Could you, uh--” he swallows; why is this so hard?-- “leave the, um.” He waves at Hermann in a kind of _all of this_ gesture. “Leave ‘em on?”

“Leave my clothes on?” Hermann cocks an amused eyebrow, but drops his hands. “I suppose I can do that, yes.”

“I just-- I like them,” Newt says. “Kinda want to mess ‘em up.”

“Oh?” The amusement on Hermann’s face quickly morphs into intense interest. He leans close. “You _do_ like making a mess, don’t you?”

Instantly Newt’s brain flashes to a memory of Hermann on his back, thrusting up into Newt’s fist, his thigh wet with Newt’s come-- “Fuck, _yes_.”

“Very well then,” says Hermann. The predatory look in his eye makes Newt shiver. “But let’s get you ready, shall we?”

Nodding frantically, Newt scrambles out of his pants, catching them on his damn dress shoes that he forgot to take off because his brain is currently solely occupied with his dick. He can’t remember ever being this aroused.

When he’s wrestled his way out of his clothes, Newt looks over and his breath catches. Hermann’s watching him intently; he’s gripping his cock through his pants like he’s stopping himself from coming right then and there, and holy _fuck_ Newt can’t _think_.

The smile Hermann sends him shows teeth. Newt kind of wants Hermann to sink those teeth into him.

And isn’t _that_ a thought. First the whole dom thing, and now biting... If Newt hadn’t been sure that he had a kinky side before, god _damn_ he’d be sure now. Hermann’s bringing out all the fantasies Newt thought he’d left behind in college.

“Well, hi there, handsome,” he says, waggling his eyebrows. He sits where Hermann pats the bed. “Come here often?”

“I haven’t _come_ here at all yet,” Hermann retorts.

“Was that a joke?” Newt laughs when Hermann shoves him onto his back.

“I must have picked up that unfortunate tendency from the Drift,” says Hermann, wrinkling his nose. “Can’t imagine how else it would’ve gotten in there.” His long fingers dig into Newt’s ribs, and Newt giggles.

“Ah! Hey! No fair, dude--”

“I think it’s perfectly fair,” says Hermann, though the tickling gentles into petting. “I have you at my mercy.”

Newt’s breath stutters. He’s suddenly very aware of the fact that he’s naked on Hermann’s sheets, dick bobbing against his stomach, with Hermann fully clothed beside him. “Y-yeah?”

“Oh, quite.” One hand smooths down Newt’s chest, down, down, stopping just below his belly button. Newt doesn’t move. He _can’t_. “How do you want to do this?”

The few brain cells that Newt has left scramble to come up with something. “Uh. Can you just-- touch me?”

“Of course, darling,” Hermann replies, and his hand finally slips down to touch Newt’s dick. It rests there oh-so-lightly. “Like this?”

Newt groans, frustrated. “Goddammit, Hermann, you’re such a tease.”

Hermann’s smile widens. “You have _no_ idea.”

It’s a little disturbing how fast Newt devolves into drooling; he’s got a fucking Pavlovian response to that, now, and he’s going to have to tell Hermann never to smile at him in public ever again--

But oh, thank god, the man takes pity on him and squeezes a little tighter. Hermann’s hand feels cool, but Newt knows that’s only in contrast to the warmth he’s probably radiating by now. He certainly _feels_ hot enough, trembling with want, dripping onto his belly. Hermann is _evil_.

Newt is doing calculations in his head in an attempt to regain some control when Hermann speaks again. “I was wondering something,” he says conversationally.

“What’s that?” he grits out.

“Why you seem to like these clothes so much.”

“What’s-- what’s not to like?”

An eyebrow twitches. “I realize that you, inexplicably, find even my dullest attire attractive”--here Newt tries to interject, to say it’s not at all inexplicable, but Hermann barrels over him--”but I am curious about what in particular you...enjoy.”

“All of it?” Newt wheezes. Now he’s on to mentally reciting lists of animal phyla, and failing. His whole world has narrowed down to Hermann’s hand caressing him, Hermann’s denim-covered ass pressing warm against one hip, Hermann’s lips moving around these words that don’t half make sense. But he’s waiting for a response. What was the question? “Th- those jeans should be _illegal_.”

“Oh? Tell me about it,” Hermann says. His hand is steady and smooth, and he adds a wicked little twist at the upstroke. “Were you hard, thinking about me doing this to you?”

Newt whimpers. “Come on, man, you know I-- ah!” Two fingers pinch tight around him for a split second. _Evil_.

“I asked you a question, Newton,” Hermann says pleasantly, like he’s not obviously hard, like his hand isn’t slick with precome from pumping Newt’s cock. “Do answer it.”

“Yes, _fuck_ , I was hard,” he says. “God, your ass was-- I couldn’t stop looking, wanted you to--”

“Good.” Hermann lets go of him to pat his belly, and Newt whines. “Shh, dear, you’re doing very well.”

At another time, the pet name might have prompted a snarky comment, but Newt’s far enough gone that the praise just makes him feel warm. He smiles.

“There you are,” says Hermann, pleased. He shifts, and before Newt can predict what he’s doing, he bends down to flick his tongue across one nipple. Newt cries out, bucking up, and Hermann uses his weight to push him back down to the bed. “Careful,” he says. “You’re going to get my shirt wet.”

Sure enough, Hermann’s leaned over Newt in just the right way -- if he were to buck upwards again, he’d be rubbing his dick along Hermann’s side, probably drawing a wet streak across that pretty shirt from how much he’s dripping. The thought makes him squirm. “ _Hermann_ …”

“Is that what you want?” Hermann asks softly. “To get my nice clothes all filthy? Or do you want me to use my hand to make you come?”

Newt makes a tiny, strangled noise. How can he be expected to make any sort of decision right now? “I-- please, just-- anything,” he pants. Hermann doesn’t move. _Dammit_. But those clothes really are too pretty to mess up, so-- “Y-your hand?”

“Alright,” Hermann says, and leans over further. He’s not teasing anymore. Every stroke is firm and deliberate, driving Newt higher and higher. The noises he’s making would be embarrassing, except that Hermann’s eyes are bright, and filled with some undefinable emotion, and focused all on him. It’s too much.

“Hermann, fuck,” he gasps. God, he wants so much, he _wants_ \--

“Come for me,” Hermann says fiercely, a puff of hot air in his ear, and Newt _comes_ , spurting across his belly and nearly to his chest. Tingles trail out to his limbs from where Hermann’s still stroking him.

After his shudders have died down, the _snick_ of a button popping open draws Newt’s attention. Hermann’s wiping his dirty hand off on a corner of the sheets, but his other hand is working at his fly, frantically unzipping his pants. He gets his dick out and starts working it fast and desperate.

As pretty a sight as that is, Newt wants in on the action. “Let me?” Hermann’s eyes flash up to his. A nod, and Newt immediately rolls off the bed, dropping to his knees and licking his lips. Hermann’s cock jerks. Then he asks, “Can I suck you off?” He wants a taste _so bad_.

“God, _yes_ ,” says Hermann breathlessly. He’s still got a death grip around his erection, and that looks a little painful, so Newt wiggles forward and gently pushes Hermann’s hand aside. Damn, he’s pretty, jutting up out of his pants like this.

“Let me know if this is okay,” Newt murmurs, bending down to lick at the flushed tip.

The only reply he gets is a hissed, “ _Newton_ ,” so Newt figures that’s a pretty good sign. After a few random licks and nibbles, he takes mercy on Hermann, closing his lips around the head and sucking lightly. Hermann throws his head back with a loud groan and clenches his fists in the sheets. Newt would be grinning if his mouth weren’t occupied.

Instead he hums around Hermann’s cock and bobs his head, and when Hermann gasps, “Newt-- I’m close, I-I can’t,” Newt takes a deep breath through his nose and goes in for the kill. He swallows once, twice, and Hermann comes in his mouth, making a sound like someone's punched him.

Newt’s dick gives a valiant twitch -- if only he were ten years younger -- and he keeps sucking until Hermann weakly shoves at his head. He pulls off, laughing. “Sorry, man,” he says as he flops down next to Hermann on the bed and licks his lips. “You just taste really good.”

“Do you ever stop talking?” Hermann asks. His voice sounds wrecked, and it’s _awesome_.

“Nope,” Newt replies cheerfully. A pillow lands on his face. “Hey, come on, is that any way to treat the guy who just sucked your--”

“No jury would convict me,” Hermann mutters and throws an arm across Newt’s chest.

Newt snuggles into him, rumpled clothes and all. “Aw, Herms, I knew you loved me.”

“You had better.” Hermann lifts the pillow and flicks him on the nose. “I wouldn’t purchase such uncomfortably tight trousers for just anyone.” Newt giggles.

Then Hermann pushes his legs aside, pulling up the covers and placing a kiss on his forehead. The last thing Newt hears before falling asleep is,

“...does this hotel have a laundry?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: [Click here](https://41.media.tumblr.com/666ae0b332f00247b47c265d8869c206/tumblr_nmv4e7SQlU1r8fszuo2_r1_1280.png) for the amazing (nsfw) art by homuzu (previewed below)!
> 
>  
> 
> (and an [alt version with glasses](http://41.media.tumblr.com/138c5720ad0edd7274a5924dff8c1be7/tumblr_nmvlh14BvN1r8fszuo1_r1_1280.png) :D)
> 
> Come say hi on [Tumblr](http://emmalyn.tumblr.com)!


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